


pink champagne

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arousal by Killing, Blow Jobs, Boats, Cuba, Dog - Freeform, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Lots of Food, M/M, Murder, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, This is just an excuse to write lovey dovey porn, and somehow make it in character, hopefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: Will and Hannibal will not be caught. Together they will be sure of it.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 30
Kudos: 333





	pink champagne

**Author's Note:**

> Award for making my summaries more and more vague each and every time I post a hannigram fic just because I have little to no reason to keep writing for them other than self-indulgence goes to me.

Will gawks at the extravagant dish placed in front of him. 

“Salad?” He asks in disbelief. 

Hannibal moves around the table after pouring Will’s wine and seats himself. With an amused smile, he pours his own glass and holds his fork in hand, prepared. 

“Broccoli tabouli with a mix of feta cheese and pomegranate,” He explains. It’s just leaves and other things. As far as Will’s concerned, it’s a salad. Hannibal waits expectantly for Will to take his first bite. Will doesn’t want to keep him waiting so he makes a bit of a show out of it. He closes his eyes when he slides the fork from his lips, and doesn’t have to fake the hum of pleasure that accompanies the burst of tangy flavor dancing on his tongue. Hannibal begins to gather his own portion, satisfied with the reaction. “I thought this type of meal would be more beneficial for our healing state.”

“It’s the first time you’re back in a kitchen. I was expecting a pig on a spitroast,” Will teases, eagerly gathering more salad and a significant portion of pomegranate on his fork. 

Hannibal considers him thoughtfully. “I have not yet sought out the butcher market in Cuba. Perhaps soon, we can rotate something over a fire.” 

“How enticing,” Will mumbles. 

They eat their dinner musing quietly about the house. Will enjoys the structure. It needs work, and nothing too strenuous that would require more than one constructive hand. Hannibal knows how much Will likes to build and repair. 

Months at sea had not done much for his restlessness. He wanted to be on solid ground, and now that he’s here, he’s jittery and impatient to get to work. 

Will is finished before Hannibal, washing down the last of the meal with a swig of dark wine. It burns blandly in his throat and leaves him with a sharp acidic taste on his tongue. 

“I hope you do not mind. I have claimed the left bedroom at the end of the hall as my own. We can switch if yours is not to your liking,” Hannibal says.

Will hadn’t thought about the living situation. Hell, he hadn’t thought far ahead at all when they began living on the boat. It was like living in a dream. There is still something illusionary about being here with him, in this house in Cuba, yet the reality begins to creep into the crevices of his mind he cannot avoid.

“I could sleep on hardwood floor. I’m sure it won’t matter,” he responds eventually. He has no idea what else he should say. They slept in the same bed on the boat, but their sleep schedules rarely overlapped, as one of them had to keep their ship on course. 

“Well, then,” Hannibal starts and Will thinks he is going to bid Will a goodnight. It is still fairly early in the evening, he’s not sure what he is supposed to do in his bedroom all alone, but then again he supposes he doesn’t have to _stay_ in his room. He can do what he pleases. “Shall we bring our drinks to the couch?”

 _Oh_. 

Will nods, pleased that Hannibal still wants to remain in his company. 

“I will bring the dishes to the sink, and then I will join you.” 

Will nods again, and takes Hannibal’s glass and his own with the wine bottle to the couch in the living room. The dining room and living room are separated by nothing, and yet the spaces are entirely different. He feels himself in a different place when he sinks into the soft cushions, the material more velvet than an average couch. 

He pours himself another large glass of wine, desperate to calm his nerves. 

When Hannibal returns and sits beside him, the wine does nothing to ease the pounding in his chest. He is still not used to the proximity, the intimacy, even now. 

He remembers Hannibal’s fingers skating across his skin on the boat, a gentle touch that came along with rebandaging his wounds. He had not thought much about it, until now. Oddly enough. 

“How did you like the food, Will?” Hannibal questions. He pours himself a liberal amount of wine, sniffing it once more before taking a sip. 

“Wonderful, thank you.” 

“I wish to introduce you to many interesting dishes in this new life.” Hannibal isn’t looking at him, but at the artwork hung on the walls. All beige and grey landscapes, entirely fitting to the dull colors decorating the house. 

It is almost a blank canvas for whatever their mutual style will become. Will can imagine maroon curtains on the windows; He wonders if Hannibal has considered a different color rug. His thoughts startling him, Will decides to watch him, unwilling to look anywhere else at the moment. Hannibal appears more tired than normal, and he moves languidly as to make sure his stitches don’t pop out. A caged view of a brazen animal.

“I’m sure you have several salads just as good as that one,” Will says warmly, folding a leg over his own knee. He props up an elbow against the back cushion. 

“Try several dozen,” Hannibal replies playfully. “I do enjoy watching you taste new recipes. I have quite missed it, in all actuality.” 

Will considers this. He wonders if during his time in the Baltimore State Hospital he ever had dinner with Will in his mind palace. A shoddy, ghostly imitation of Will could never compare. Will sets his glass down and makes eye contact with him then. 

“Did you think about what you would serve me, if we ever ended up here or somewhere similar?” Will asks. A smile tugs at Hannibal’s lips.

“Of course. Everyday.” 

“Not everyday, surely.”

“Everyday,” Hannibal assures without missing a beat and Will feels his stomach tighten. He swallows and turns away, the exchange more severe than he can handle. 

Hannibal stands and before he can ask where he’s going, he watches as he rummages through a crate of records next to the record player. He pulls one out and Will can see the name on the cover from here. Ferruccio Busoni. 

It plays hushed, and Will strains to follow the piano measures. 

“This is sad,” Will notes after a few minutes. Hannibal is back on the couch, his wine glass left untouched on the coffee table. He nods slowly. 

“This is a somber evening. We are saying goodbye to an old life, forcing ourselves into a new one. You and I will never be what we once were.” 

“Our cores still remain,” Will contends, as if to play Devil’s advocate, though he’s not sure he wishes to argue this sentiment. Hannibal is right. 

Hannibal reaches out a hand, gently cupping Will’s cheek, the side of his face that is left unscathed by their altercation with the dragon. Will stays completely still, unsure how to feel even as his pulse races. 

“My dear Will,” he says with a multitude of affection that would cause Will to drop his wine glass if he were still holding it. “You have changed me in ways I could have never imagined, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.” 

He drops his hand, letting it fall to the space on the couch between them. Will looks down and has trouble swallowing when he brings his own hand to rest over Hannibal’s. 

Hannibal is taken aback, but wraps his hand tighter around Will’s and his smile turns warm, _human_ as opposed to distant and knowing. It suffocates Will, his heart and his lungs constricting all at once. He takes a deep breath to ease the tension. 

“May I hold you, Will?” Hannibal asks and he sounds so earnest that even if Will did not want to, he would say yes. But, he finds in awe, that he does want. 

Untrusting of his own voice, he nods, and Hannibal gracefully moves closer, opening his arms. Will awkwardly shuffles closer and allows Hannibal to draw him in. He hooks his chin over the top of Will’s head, one arm wrapping around his waist, and the other cradling the base of his skull. 

Will’s hands rest against Hannibal’s back and a wave of emotions nearly overwhelms him. He wills himself to calm down and takes a deep, shuddery breath against the crook of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal holds him closer and he realizes in hindsight this is the first time they’ve held each other this close since the cliff.

“This is nice,” Will says after some time. He’s relaxed into his arms, cheek resting comfortably against his collarbone. Hannibal hums and he feels it against the top of his head. He doesn’t want him to pull away, but he knows he must. 

Hannibal strokes his hair, "How I've missed you, Will." He sounds irreverent, and his fingers feel hellishly good stroking through his curls. Will realizes that this stretches back to before Florence. He misses having Will and knowing Will is his. Before Abigail's true death, before everything.

It feels monumental to say it back. Will forces himself to, despite the gnawing guilt at his own weakness. "I missed you too." He says it into Hannibal's shirt. 

There is a long, weighted beat before Hannibal pulls away and Will is faced with his probing and love-filled eyes. He responds with a weak smile to which Hannibal appears amused.

"I am going to retire to work on some drawings. If you need me, I'll be in my bedroom." Hannibal runs his hand through Will's hair one more time before standing and bringing his glass into the kitchen. Will stares at the dim lamp on the counter beside the couch and waits for Hannibal to disappear into his room. 

Will leans back against the cushions and they seem to envelope him. He cranes his neck towards the ceiling, stretching out his tense limbs. He tries to ignore the pounding in his heart.

He is here. In a house. With Hannibal Lecter. 

This is his life now.

His face won’t stop burning. 

* * *

Will wakes to the sound of his bedroom door closing. 

He cracks one eye open to see Hannibal moving closer with something in his hands. Out of instinct, he scrambles up and blinks rapidly to get the sticky feel of morning out of his system. He registers he is holding a tray of food. Toast, eggs, juice. 

“What is this?” His brain still hasn’t caught up with the visuals. 

“Breakfast in bed,” Hannibal replies and waits until Will settles against the headboard before placing the tray over his lap. Puzzled, Will moves a finger delicately over the rim of the plate as to not jostle the setup. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he mumbles. His voice is groggy with exhaustion and his head is having trouble wrapping itself around why Hannibal would do this. He decides to consider it later as the smell of sweet jam on toasted bread is filling his nostrils and urging him to dig in. 

“You needn’t say a thing.” Hannibal sits on the edge of the bed, angled towards Will and watches him lift a piece of toast to his lips. It tastes more tangy than it normally would and he can’t help the small pleased noise that erupts in the back of his throat. 

Hannibal smiles brightly. Will nudges him weakly with his foot.

“Shut up.” 

After his initial surge of ravenous morning hunger is put at bay, he chugs some juice and then asks, “Have you eaten?”

“Hours ago.” 

“Christ, what time is it?” Will whips around to look for a clock or a phone, remembering there is neither in this room. Hannibal looks down at his watch. 

“Eleven,” he says and looks back up at him. “You must remember your body is still healing, Will.”

“No, eleven is good for me,” Will assures dryly. “You’re lucky I’m not waking up at two in the afternoon.” They chat idly while Will finishes his breakfast, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s enjoying Hannibal’s non-intrusive company until he stands, ready to take the tray back to the kitchen. 

It is similar to one of those moments far back into the first days of their relationship, when Hannibal leaving meant he wouldn’t be seeing him for days or a week. Where there would be hours of traffic between their respective living spaces. Will is calmed by the fact that Hannibal will merely be one room over, and he can see him when he likes. 

He rushes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a quick shower. It feels much smoother than the shower on the boat. The water pressure almost massages the muscles in his back, sore from a somewhat rigid sleep. 

On the boat there had been two outfits distributed to both of them, and they had continuously swapped with whichever one was dirty. Standing in front of a closet, filled with an array of different darkly colored shirts and formal slacks, he has no idea what to do. He’s not even sure when Hannibal bought these. 

He picks out a blue button-up with light beige pants, and still looks far too dressed up for his liking. The fabric feels soft and rich against his skin which is an incredible upside. 

When he strolls into the living room, he expects to find Hannibal awaiting his presence, but is greeted by a note left on a large piece of paper. It rests on the coffee table under a thermos filled with ice water. It reads;

_Dear Will,_

_I must run errands in town. I won’t be too long._

_Take this time to explore your surroundings._

_Do not be afraid to wander through the woods._

_\- Hannibal_

Will drops the note back on the table with a curt laugh. 

“Damn,” he mutters to no one. Day two and Hannibal is already out of his reach. He glances over at the television and wonders why he hadn’t noticed it yesterday. 

With running shoes, and a change of clothes, he jogs mindlessly into the woods behind the house. There is a semi-clear path to take that forks off into three separate directions. Will takes the more clear path, vowing to go down the paths that appear more dangerous on another day. He doesn’t want to come home to Hannibal with scrapes and bruises quite yet. 

The smell of nature is different from America. It fills his nose like pepper would, and his eyes water as he picks up the pace and heads towards a large fallen cedar tree. 

He guzzles down some water surprised to find it has a slightly raspberry taste to it. Hannibal can’t even leave him a simple bottle of water, there has to be a kick to it. Despite himself, he drinks more and rescrews the cap. 

There are thicker trees this deep into the woods, perfect lumber for the fireplace. Though it is nowhere near cold, there is a specific chill that comes at nightfall, one that with a warm fire, he and Hannibal could benefit from.

As he’s gathering some to fill his satchel with, the memory of Hannibal’s hand in his hair, and his words reverberating against his skin shudder back and he slows down, surprised at the intensity of emotion that accompanies the thoughts. He heaves, trying to focus on the dirt path ahead of him. 

When he is about to start running, he hears rambunctious movement in the woods. Too loud to be a squirrel, but the movement is so erratic and inconsistent, it can’t possibly be a human. Even so, Will stalks closer to the brush lining the path, cautious and alert.

His hand reaches down toward the pocket knife in his sock, but before he can get to it, he’s tackled to the ground. He struggles for several seconds before realizing he is not being ambushed by a wolf or a fox. It is a stray dog, a large mutt much like Winston, but with a dark brown almost ebony coat. He is extremely eager, licking and barking at Will as if he were his owner. 

Will grins and allows himself the rush of enthusiasm that arises deep in his gut.

“Hey buddy,” he greets, rubbing roughly behind the dog’s ears. The dog pants and nuzzles his face some more, licking away the aftershave just under his jawline. 

When he has the ability to sit up, he checks around the dog’s neck for a tag or collar, but finds none. There is a patch of sand-colored fur in the middle of his chest, nearly in the shape of a heart and it makes Will feel giddy like a little kid.

“Are you hungry, big guy?” The dog’s tail wags faster. Will laughs, and begins to lure him back towards the direction of the house. It takes a minute, but the dog decides to trot behind him, panting and wagging all the while. 

Hannibal isn’t back yet when they get inside. Will washes the dog in the tub, toweling off the pads of his paws just to make sure he doesn’t dirty up the house, knowing Hannibal would be chagrined to find any type of mess. He digs around in the cabinets, eyes flitting over spices he can’t pronounce and expensive cans of beans and other more exotic foods. He takes a can of beans which look the least fancy and he warms them up in a bowl in the microwave before placing it on the floor by the dog’s feet.

The dog eats delicately, much to Will’s surprise. As if he knows he is merely a guest in the house. Will is on one knee beside him, scratching behind his ears, feeling the damp softness of his newly cleaned pelt. 

“What’s a good name for you?” Will asks him. The dog licks at the liquid left in the bowl once he’s done, making sure not to waste a drop. 

Will washes it thoroughly and as he’s putting it away he hears the front door open. 

“Shit,” he mutters when the dog goes running to Hannibal. He’s not exactly sure what Hannibal’s reaction is going to be. All he knows is that Hannibal, at the very least, tolerated feeding Will’s dogs. He’ll make sure Hannibal knows he just brought him in to feed him, that’s it.

Will is stunned when two grocery bags are pushed into his arms

“Take these to the kitchen would you?” He asks politely. He does not acknowledge the large dog pawing at his knees. Will hopes they’re not expensive pants. 

He does as he’s told and returns to find Hannibal kneeling on the floor, calmly roughhousing with the dog. He watches in mild shock as Hannibal convinces it to roll over so he can rub his belly. Hannibal appears genuinely enthralled.

“You’ve made a new friend in my absence,” Hannibal says without looking up. He circles his fingers around one of the hound’s paws flapping in the air. He examines the paw thoroughly. “Quite a lovely animal,” he adds.

“He was hungry,” Will says simply, as his brain has short-circuited. 

“A new member of the family?” Hannibal asks in a way that indicates he is asking _Will_ permission to keep it. As if _he_ is not in control here. Will is at a loss for words. 

“Olive would be a good name for a dog,” Hannibal states. “Don’t you think?” 

Will stares at him dumbfounded, and follows Hannibal’s hand which rubs and scratches playfully at the dog’s– _Olive’s_ –stomach. With an overwhelming sense of domesticity that poisons him from head to toe, he cracks a smile and catches the glint of green in the animal’s eyes. 

“Olive sounds great.” 

As if they hadn’t just agreed to take in a dog, Hannibal stands and moves for the kitchen. The dog scrambles up and shadows his pace with Will in tow.

“I have always wished to explore the culinary arts for canines,” Hannibal says with pep, taking out heads of lettuce and fruits; things that could not have been stored in this safe house for years. Ingredients that will allow him to start crafting more extravagant dishes. 

Will sits on a bar stool, staring fondly at Hannibal as he extricates fruits and vegetables from their plastic bags. “You could have had my dogs as your guests. All you had to do was ask.” There was a time he would have gladly allowed Hannibal to cook for his dogs.

“I fed them occasionally. I am sure they would have appreciated a more hostly approach, however.” A minuscule frown appears on Hannibal’s face. “Kindness and domesticity was foreign to us for so long. There were times I wished to take you places that you had never seen, yet you always felt miles away.”

“Never went to any of those big dinner parties you had,” Will notes. “I’m sure I had good excuses, but some of them were lies. I was never into that sort of crowd.”

“If you had been, I would have been selfish and spent the majority of my evenings with you. You’d be surprised at how little I care for the conversation of socialites.” 

“I did want to go, sometimes,” Will reveals bashfully. Hannibal makes eye contact with him, imploring him to divulge more. “I, uh, I always felt it would be satisfying to go, knowing that your attention would be spent on me.” Will struggles to allow the next words to fall from his tongue. “I wanted to see the envy within every single one of your guests knowing they couldn’t know you as I know you.” 

Hannibal stares into the middle distance between them, a smile forming on his face. He clenches his fist over the potato in his hand. 

“We have lost time to make up for,” he declares. “We have many regrets we wish we could change, and all the time in the world.” 

The truth of the statement runs through Will like an electric current.

“We shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves,” Will says. It’s obvious, he doesn’t need to say it, but he wants to. He wants Hannibal’s more flamboyant and showman side of his persona to hear it and understand what Will means.

Hannibal shakes his head and begins folding the now empty grocery bags tight enough to toss in the trash bin. “Drawing no attention whatsoever is just as suspicious as drawing too much. But, I agree with you. We will draw only what is necessary.” 

“For now, I think it should just be you and me. No dinner parties until we’re fully healed.”

Hannibal comes off as much too smug for Will’s liking. 

“You, me, and Olive.”

Will gives a slight smile. “Yes.” 

“Do not fret, Will. I have no desire to form any connections at the moment. I am too eager to have you all to myself.” The wicked grin that spreads across Hannibal’s face makes Will blush and he looks away, down towards Olive who has settled at his feet. 

“Come, I have some gardening tools for you.” 

* * *

Will had been on the second trip to the store with Hannibal. He had given Will an extremely humongous lump of cash and pushed at the small of his back to nudge him down an aisle on his own. Allowed to run rampant like a child through the store. 

The only selfish products he’d bought were some potato chips and a frisbee.

He’s now playing catch with Olive who is much more active than Will had previously anticipated. Will watches him jump mid-air to catch the frisbee, realizing how gorgeous his pelt appears in the deep orange glow of the setting sun. He trots back at a glacial pace. Will doesn’t mind. Throwing the toy continuously is almost therapeutic.

“Dinner is ready,” Hannibal says with a hand sliding over Will’s back. Will stiffens only out of instinct, unused to touch even after all his years with Molly. 

He takes the frisbee from Olive’s mouth and when he realizes Will is not going to throw it again, he whines and paws at the ground. 

“None of that,” Hannibal gently scolds. “Poor Will would starve if he stayed out here all evening. You wouldn’t want that would you?” 

Though he speaks as if talking to a human, Olive straightens up and his whining ceases. Will barks out a laugh. 

“You’re kidding me. You’re the dog whisperer now?”

“Animals have always taken a liking to me,” Hannibal says with a shrug in his voice. He leads Will and their dog back inside before night can fully fall.

There is meat in the dish Hannibal serves tonight. Will couldn’t quite catch the name of it, but it is of no matter. He eats it as enthusiastically as he would any of Hannibal’s meals. It is adorned with fresh slices of tomato and a variety of peppers. The sauce is none that Will can recognize, but it bursts on his tongue like a bird spreading its wings.

Hannibal suggests a movie, knowing full well Will has been eyeing the selection of rentable titles on his off time. Television is rarely on Hannibal’s mind as he’d much rather be drawing, composing, or cooking. However, he can recognize excitement in Will’s eyes, and that’s clearly more than enough for him. 

Will picks an older film, assuming it would please Hannibal’s refined taste. It does for a while until Hannibal starts picking apart historical inaccuracies. He’s one of _those_ people, Will thinks crabbily.

Half way through the film, Olive is asleep at their feet, and Will and Hannibal are sharing a blanket. They are close together, but not touching. It is intimate and cozy, all the things Will never thought they could be, certainly not together. It somehow fits.

Jack Crawford would scream. They’ve gotten away with murder. Will is aiding and abetting Hannibal Lecter. He is eating his food, enjoying his company. Will knows this peace will not last. Hell, he doesn’t even want it too. He wants to kill again. He knows Hannibal wants to kill again as well, but the need is neither urgent or immediate. 

There is something more urgent about his feelings for Hannibal. He is finally allowed full reign, and he’s not sure what he wants, but there’s something missing.

Under the blanket, Hannibal’s fingers brush over Will's hand which rests on the couch cushion. He slips his fingers into the crevices between Will’s and holds his hand.

Will goes still, then tightens his loose grip. His arm tingles and his brain buzzes with possibility. Doors have been opening right in front of him. The cliff, the dragon, he could take what he wants from Hannibal. Hannibal is most likely waiting for him to.

He inches closer, lowering his cheek to Hannibal’s shoulder and he can feel the affection stemming from him in waves, it threatens to pull him closer, into the unknown. Out of the corner of his eye, Will watches Hannibal. He could kiss Will, if he wanted to. Will would let him. When Hannibal turns and smiles at him, he looks away, timidity taking hold. 

Hannibal doesn’t do more than hold his hand tonight. 

He washes the dishes before bed while Will takes a shower, and they cross paths in the hall with a mutual “goodnight” gently whispered between them. 

* * *

The sheets wrapped around his body, constricting his legs and the movement of his arms, feel like hands pushing him down into the mattress 

When he wakes, he finds himself rubbing against the mattress with a hard aching cock, and no memories other than that of a strong hand and silvered hair. He can connect the dots. He takes a hold of his dick, squeezing once to appease his arousal. Anxious and jumpy, he hops up and immediately darts to the shower. 

The morning starts cold and he shivers when turning the valve off.

As he’s wrapping a towel around his waist, the doorbell rings. 

Will freezes for a moment before smiling to himself, grabbing his robe and making his way to the front door. His hair drips over the carpet. 

“You locked yourself out _again_ _–_ ” Will opens the door and a short, stout man stands there. He is balding and his face is abnormally red, like a tomato. “–Hannibal…” He finishes awkwardly. “Who are you?"

He ignores that panic that sparks inside him. .

“Sorry to bother you,” The man says with a gruff Cuban accent. “A friend of mine who lives up the road at that little red house, told me about the new neighbors who moved into this place. They have mentioned seeing my dog in the yard, coming in and out. I do not wish to impose…”

“Oh, you’re the owner,” Will interrupts, a wave of relief washing over him. It is followed by slight disappointment, realizing Olive’s stay has been cut short. “I found him in the woods a while back, no tag, so we took him in.”

“Very, uh, kind, of you,” The man says, appearing to struggle with the fluency of his words. “I am Marco.”

Wondering what name he’s supposed to give this man, he realizes he is blocking the entrance. “Sorry, come in,” He moves aside and beckons him forward. “He’s around here somewhere. I think he’s sleeping out back. Can you wait?” 

Will hopes Hannibal doesn’t have anything incriminating lying around. They haven’t been here long enough to accumulate anything of the sort, but with Hannibal, you never know.

Marco looks around. “Do you mind if I sit?” 

“Go ahead.” Will waves a hand and wanders through the back door. Sure enough, Olive is resting on the porch with his head on his paws. He clambers up when he sees Will, tail wagging a mile a minute. Will’s heart aches. 

“Come on, pal,” Will nudges him with his bare foot, and the dog shakes his coat, trotting into the house. With a sigh, he follows him. 

Will pauses when Olive pauses. Olive’s ears draw back and his stance changes; he is in defensive mode. Marco stands, patting at his knees brashly. 

“Come, Tio,” Marco orders. Olive growls and barks at Will’s side. Will has never heard him growl. Before he can react, Marco stalks forward and grabs Tio by a large tuft of fur on his neck and drags him to the middle of the room. He speaks fast and angry, words that Will does not understand and smacks the dog on the side of his head, by his ear. It is sharp and quick, and Will watches with death in his eyes. 

“Sorry about this, uh, disobedient mutt,” Marco says, casually reaching out a hand towards Will to shake. “Won’t let him bother you any longer.”

Will stares at the hand in front of him, and forces a smile. 

“How about a drink for the road?” He gestures to the kitchen. There is tile floor in the kitchen, less work for Hannibal to clean up the mess he is about to make. 

Marco, obviously the greedy alcoholic Will deduces he is, agrees happily. He shouts, “ _Quieto, Tio!_ ” To his dog, and Olive obeys, ears still drawn back, but now in submission rather than defense. Will opens Hannibal’s least favorite wine and pours a significant amount for Marco. He pours none for himself, handing him the glass and turning towards the butcher’s block which holds their array of knives. 

“What do you work as, Marco?” Will asks to distract him. He chooses a long, slim knife and circles around the island while Marco is talking. 

“Plumbing, some roofing here and there. If you ever need a–” 

Will stabs him low in his back and the man drops his wine, the glass shattering at his feet. Hannibal isn’t going to be happy about that, he thinks, twisting the knife and finding innate satisfaction in the way Marco falls to his knees. 

Curious, Will lifts the blade to his lips, swiping his tongue over the smooth end. It is tangy, and not too good. He wonders what Hannibal can use this man for; he can’t imagine his innards will taste any better. But, then again, there’s nothing a frying pan and a few strong spices can’t fix. Will snaps the man’s neck, unwilling to make a show out of this kill without Hannibal by his side. 

Will washes his hands and is only just noticing the blood that had splattered onto his robe when the door opens and Olive begins barking, a happier more urgent noise.

“Will?” Hannibal calls. He most likely can smell the blood from the living room. It fills Will’s nostrils even mere feet from the body. With a shaky intake of breath, he enters the living room. 

“Will, are you alright?” Hannibal is restraining himself from pouncing forward and inspecting him. He ignores Olive who is nosing at the bags in his hand. 

“Completely unscathed,” Will says, unsteadily. “We had a guest.”

Will does his best explaining what had happened. Hannibal stands over Marco’s body, eyeing him up and down like he would fruit or vegetables in a grocery store. The smell of blood is overwhelming, and Will becomes aware that he is trembling. “Which parts are you going to take?" 

“The liver and heart, I believe.” 

Hannibal turns and closes in on him. A concerned hand brushes over the scar on his cheek before both rest on his hips, next to the blood stains. 

“Are you sure you were unharmed?” He implores. Will puts a hand on one of Hannibal’s arms, the memories of his dream catapulting themselves back into the forefront of his mind. He nods simply, gripping him once in affirmation.

Hannibal leaves him all too soon, making his way down to the cellar to find his gutting tools. It is a small room, unlike Hannibal’s previous basement. He hadn’t bought too many things for it, just necessities. For situations when Will decides he wants to go off the rails, apparently. There is a pang of regret in his chest that his first kill after the Dragon had not been with Hannibal.

While Hannibal harvests the organs he wants, Will picks anxiously at his nails. He is still in his robe, the thoughts that have any coherence in his mind at the moment having nothing to do with changing clothes. 

Hannibal comes out into the living room, stopping short of where the carpet begins. His gloved hands are blood red. “Would you like to feed his kidneys to the dog?”

Will blinks, and registers the question. 

He finds he harbors no resistance. 

“Yes, actually.” 

He does change his clothes finally; a maroon button-up with black slacks. It seems appropriate for the rest of the day. Will cooks by Hannibal’s side, focusing on the smaller meal for Olive rather than the meal for both of them. 

“Are those fava beans?” Will asks, peering into the pot on the stove beside his frying pan. Hannibal nods, moving swiftly from station to station, like clockwork.

“It pairs nicely with Chianti.” 

When the kidney is placed on the frying pan, he has no clue what he is meant to be doing. He flips it every so often and watches the meat grow darker. The process is quick, but Hannibal seems to be doing five things at once while his paranoid brain tells him he’s burning his only project. Hannibal rushes to his side suddenly, pressing against his back, and covering his arm with his hand. He lifts Will’s pan up and off the burner, reaching with his other hand to turn it down. 

“It’ll blacken in seconds, if you keep going like that,” Hannibal says close to his ear and lingers for a moment longer than he should, smirking when he pulls away. Will’s lips twitch up and he moves the kidney back and forth on the pan, watching as the oil dissipates, and the red color brown. 

“We can’t all be Gordon Ramsey,” Will jibes. 

“I do not know a Gordon Ramsey.” 

Will balks. “You do so know Gordon Ramsey.”

Hannibal turns to him, lips curved downwards in the way that makes him resemble a smug puppy dog. “Sorry,” he says simply. 

Will rolls his eyes, and continues his work.

Before long, he has their neighbor Marco’s kidney cooked thoroughly and chopped into tiny pieces. The kidney is not as big as one would think; the bits fit into a small bowl like the perfect amount of dog food, though Will decides to go light on Olive’s breakfast the next morning. 

It is around lunch time, so Hannibal does not place an intricate table. There are necessities and he asks Will to pick some flowers from a field near the woods for the clear vase at the center of the table. Will brings back red and yellow flowers, the colors that make the hunger part of the human brain go wild. 

Olive eats the kidney eagerly, unaware it is his owner. Dogs can forget so easily, and know so little. Their innocence is one of the most endearing things in the world, one of the last vestiges of pureness in Will’s existence. 

“You’re right Chianti does pair well with fava beans,” Will notes with his mouth full. He’s never been superb at table etiquette. At least Hannibal finds it charming. 

“And liver,” Hannibal adds with a knowing smile.

“A _pig’s_ liver,” Will says because it is true.

* * *

After dinner, Will helps Hannibal wash the dishes, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand on his face. The water continues to run while Hannibal inspects him.

“What’s the matter?” Will stammers. 

“You have a speck of blood on your chin.” Hannibal swipes his tongue over a thumb before rubbing at the aforementioned dried blood. It is frighteningly intimate, and Will pulls away from him as a child would a doting mother. 

He is blushing, and doesn’t want Hannibal to comment on it. 

“Apologies, Will.”

“I–” Will doesn’t want him thinking intimate gestures are unwelcome. “I don’t mind, really.” He looks to Hannibal who watches him with dangerous curiosity lurking in his gaze. He flushes a deeper color. 

“May I draw you?” Hannibal asks suddenly.

Will flusters, hiding his jitters with a laugh. “What?”

“I wish to draw you.”

Will turns the faucet off and leans back against the counter. Hannibal dries his hands and watches him carefully, an easy and welcoming expression greeting him.

“You’ve drawn me before when I wasn’t there,” Will reminds.

“From memory.” Hannibal takes a step closer, fingers coming up to brush at his jawline, rising to his temples, tracing the curves and significant portions of his face. “My memory palace does not serve me the finer details of your visage.”

“Okay,” Will says before he can second guess himself. “Sure.” 

“Meet me in my bedroom. I’ll finish up here,” Hannibal orders, turning the water back on. Will makes to leave then stops himself, bashfulness tingling up his spine. 

“Hannibal, how much do you want to see of me?” Will asks, so quietly he’s fearful he’ll have to repeat himself. Hannibal turns his head, eyeing Will head to toe once. It is enough to make his heart pound and his fingers twitch at his sides.

“Whatever you are willing to show me,” Hannibal responds in a low voice. Just when the eye contact begins to sear, Hannibal turns back towards the dishes and Will leaves the room. He can’t hear himself think over the thumping in his chest. 

He takes off his shoes and socks once he is in Hannibal’s bedroom, placing them by the door. He stares at the bed, quite obviously made by a stuffy individual. Hannibal keeps his room tidy and pristine, yet his scent lingers. Will’s fingers dance over the buttons of his shirt. How much _is_ he willing to reveal? 

Not everything, surely. 

There is a part of him that wants to. That wants to be as naked as the day he was born, sprawled out on Hannibal’s bed. Maybe Hannibal wouldn’t even bother picking up pencils and paper. Perhaps he would accept what Will would be offering. Or even worse, perhaps he _would_ pick up his sketchpad and get to work. 

Will takes his shirt off, but keeps his pants on. 

He can’t quite find the confidence within himself to do as he desires. Maybe another day, but not the first time. The shirt is enough.

Will sits on the bed for about seven minutes before Hannibal enters the room and shuts the door gently behind him. He looks at Will, entirely pleased. Will tries to find any remnant of disappointment in his expression, but finds none. 

Hannibal moves to his desk, wasting no time in taking out his supplies. He brings his desk chair to the side of the bed and sits. Hannibal is holding his sketchpad, an eraser, and three pencils. Will could reach out and touch his knees. 

“Would you lay down on the pillow as if you were falling asleep?” Hannibal reaches out and lays the pillow flat so Will can do as he’s told. 

Will watches Hannibal’s gaze flit over his body. He feels hot under his watchful eye and hopes he won’t break out into a sweat. Hannibal stands, leaving the room for only a few moments before returning with a dark silk sheet. He extends it over Will’s body. It covers his feet. Hannibal tugs it down so it rests just above his pant’s waistline. 

The illusion of bareness. Just as if he had fallen asleep alone, unsuspecting and vulnerable. It makes Will shudder. 

“Are you comfortable?” Hannibal asks as he sits down for the final time.

“Very,” Will mutters. 

“Close your eyes,” Hannibal tells him. _Wade into the quiet of the stream_ , Will remembers him saying once. He closes his eyes and does just that. Birds are chirping in tune with the wild rush of river water. The fish are not biting today. The bait is rotten, and Abigail is missing. 

He is lulled into an actual slumber with the continuous drone of pencil against paper. It scratches lightly at his mind, and he wonders how much time Hannibal intends to spend on the details of his face even as he wades further into a muted dreamscape.

When he wakes, he is moderately groggy and very thirsty. Of course Hannibal is ready with a glass of water accompanied by the hand on his shoulder that had jostled him awake. “I would have been content to let you sleep until morning. You have no idea how charming you are when you are unaware.” 

Will is too weary to register the compliment. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“Would you like to see?”

Will nods and Hannibal glances once more at his sketchpad before handing Will the picture. It is stupendous. Hannibal truly deserves to be mentioned amongst the greats. While he acknowledges the image is of him through the exact traits portrayed, he is unable to recognize himself. He is not sure if it is Hannibal’s own view of him, or that his view of his own image has changed. 

“You have a gift, Hannibal.” Will hands him back the sketchbook. “I don’t believe I have ever looked that refined.”

“Oh, I could not capture such priceless beauty with pencils and parchment,” Hannibal says and if Will didn’t know better, he’d say this comes across as shy. “Your allure is a rarity amongst this race of monsters.” 

“Hannibal,” Will says with an awkward laugh. “That isn’t true.” 

“I hope one day you will see it,” He asserts. Will realizes Hannibal’s hand is resting on his knee and his throat feels dry for another reason entirely. “Would you care for champagne?”

“What time is it?”

“Five.”

“Christ,” Will grumbles and swings his legs off the bed. He feels stiff, but Hannibal’s doting grip on his shoulder and arm makes it better. Being the center of Hannibal’s attention has not grown tiresome, and he’s sure it will feel the same every single time. Like the rays of the sun shining only on him. Leaving everyone else cold. He would allow the world to freeze if it meant Hannibal would continue looking at him the way he does. 

They have a small dinner, some leftovers from three days prior. Olive gets a few treats for being able to sit and lie down. Will decides to wait for next week to feed him the next kidney. How considerate of Marco to have two. 

When they’re done, Will waits on the couch. Hannibal brings them two glasses of pink champagne. 

“Ruinart rosé champagne,” Hannibal announces. Will sniffs it, and wrinkles up his nose. “I assure you the taste is much more inviting.”

Will sips at it. He’s not wrong, though it is still not Will’s cup of tea. He prefers a strong wine, or the occasional beer. 

They spend a significant amount of time in a comfortable silence, stolen glances bringing heat to Will’s cheeks and there is a fluttering feeling within his stomach.

“I know why you draw,” he starts, “but why draw me?”

Hannibal looks to him, his expression as warm as the fireplace. “I suppose to preserve you. There are moments in time I am unwilling to forget the shape of.” 

“Your memory palace isn’t sufficient for that?”

“Is yours?” 

“No,” Will admits. “I suppose not.” He sips his drink and watches Hannibal’s lips draw over the rim of his cup, his Adam's apple bob as the liquid trickles down his throat. Will feels unsteady, the champagne loosening his inhibitions. 

“I almost decided to wait for you bare.” 

Hannibal is caught off guard and he avoids looking at Will.

“I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Or how you would feel.” 

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth twitches up. He stares down at his champagne. “I told you to appear as you were most comfortable.” He turns then, and his gaze is molten. “There may be a time where you do not feel the need to hide from me.” 

“I wasn’t hiding,” Will says in a small voice. “I was overwhelmed.” 

“I quite like it when you are overwhelmed,” Hannibal responds with a darkening smile. “I hope to earn the opportunity to overwhelm you further.”

Will tuts, grip tightening dangerously around his glass. 

There is a bark by his foot which dangles off the side of the couch. _Saved by the bell,_ Will thinks tartly, _except the bell is the bark of your dog whose owner you killed, ate, and fed to it._

“He’s thirsty,” Will clarifies. He’s become gifted at understanding dog language. Hannibal can talk to Olive, but he never really knows what he wants when he barks or howls. Hannibal waits for Will to fill up Olive’s dog bowl and his eyes follow Will as he plops back down on the couch, notably closer than he had been before. 

With the proximity, the intensity of each second feels heightened. 

“I felt bad today,” Will admits.

Hannibal turns his body so he can see him properly. His eyes are golden in the fire light. Will wants to kiss the soft space between his brows.

“Why is that?” Hannibal questions, a playful hint to his words.

“It was the first time I killed since…” _Dolarhyde_ , he can’t finish. “You weren’t there.” 

“Had you wished I was there?”

“Yes,” Will says and it comes out more shaky and breathless than he intended. “It didn’t feel right to kill without you.” Hannibal could kiss him. They’re close enough and he can feel the heat of his body inches away from him. “It wasn’t rectifying.” 

“We are here to make up for lost time, even time we lose while existing in this new life,” Hannibal says slowly. He is unabashedly following the lines and creases of Will’s face with his eyes, gaze lingering on his lips and his neck. 

Will inches forward, eyes round and wanting. 

“He told me his neighbor was the one who mentioned they saw his dog in our yard. They could decide to report the man missing,” Will feels more and more like he’s rambling, as he’s not truly focusing on his own words.

“You want to kill them?” Hannibal asks. It’s a stupid question, and Will is positive Hannibal just wants to hear him say it. 

“Yes. With you,” Will asserts. 

Hannibal’s cheeks rise with a smile, and one of his large all-encompassing hands presses against the scar on Will’s face. He pushes their foreheads together and Will thinks finally, _finally_ , he is going to, but Hannibal pulls away just as fast and his hand falls to his side.

Will nearly blurts out a protest before he catches himself. 

“Then we shall,” Hannibal says simply, standing to bring their empty champagne glasses to the sink. Will flounders, replaying the moment over and over in his head. Had he done something wrong? Does Hannibal not want this? 

“I am going to be reading in my bedroom if you need me,” Hannibal tells him before vanishing down the corridor. Will crumples down into the couch cushions, shoving a stray pillow over his eyes. He swears into it before tossing it aside. 

Night falls quickly, and even Olive has retreated to the bedrooms. Hannibal keeps his door closed at night, otherwise Will is sure Olive would attempt to sleep in his bed as well as Will’s.

Will flicks through several news stations on the television, some in languages he cannot understand, and one in English that feels far too familiar for his liking.

He shuts it off when it starts to get late, but he can’t bring himself to leave the living room. He still feels trapped in the moment, and he is left with a lingering feeling that Hannibal will return to finish what he started. Hannibal is usually asleep by this hour, now, and Will feels his body tighten and feels that lingering feeling churn into something uncontrollably foul and frustrated. 

When there is nothing but a few dying embers in the fireplace, and dim moonlight shining through the windows, Will rests on the windowsill by the front door. It is large enough to sit on, to lean back against the wall and stare out into the quiet stillness of the woods. There are fireflies that flicker on and off, and it soothes what aches inside him. 

“Will?” A voice asks. 

Will abruptly turns to find Hannibal, shirtless with his pajama bottoms on. He seems to be headed for the kitchen. 

“Unable to sleep?” He asks.

Will shakes his head. “Unable to try to sleep.”

Hannibal removes himself from the shadows, growing closer like a predator in the night. Moonlight illuminates the sharp curves of his arms and pectoral muscles. His abdomen is hardened from working out, Will is sure he had more than enough time in the Baltimore State Hospital to exercise. Will fruitlessly tries not to allow his eyes to wander.

He decides on an automatic and cordial question required for the situation. “Why are _you_ up?” 

“I wanted to retrieve a glass of milk. It helps me sleep.”

Will’s responsive laugh is anything but gentle. “The infamous Dr. Lecter is susceptible to the effects of milk and cookies. Who knew?” Anytime he calls Hannibal ‘Dr. Lecter’ he is not in the best of moods. It is rarely well-intentioned. 

“What troubles you, Will?” Hannibal asks. 

It is tender, even mellow, the way he says it. 

“That’s it isn’t it.” Will contemplates. “Not knowing that you even drink milk to help you sleep at night. There’s so much I don’t know about you, even now. I would carry us off the same cliff again if it meant spending an eternity with you, and yet I don’t even know what you want. What your desires are, how you feel.” 

Hannibal takes a few steps forward, and he seems broader up close. Taller, and more demanding. Will wants to reach out and touch. 

“Have I not been open with you?” Hannibal questions, genuinely trying to understand.

“You’ve been open, I just wonder if there are things you want to tell me, things that you have kept to yourself because you were unsure…” Will grapples with his nerves, forcing himself to make eye contact with Hannibal. 

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Hannibal’s eyes widen a fraction, and Will can see him stop breathing momentarily. He blinks a few times as he gathers himself. 

“Don’t throw it back to me as another question,” Will says, pleading with his eyes. “Just tell me if you want to kiss me.” 

Hannibal’s lips part and he seems to be steeling himself before he responds with a disciplined, “Yes, I want to.” 

Will moves so he is facing Hannibal completely. His legs dangle off the windowsill. He tugs Hannibal forward in one swift movement so Hannibal has to brace himself with a hand on the window pane behind him. 

“Do it, then,” Will whispers, rubbing his thumbs over the skin under Hannibal’s eyes, trailing his hands down to settle against the nape of his neck. 

Hannibal appears timid, eyes flickering down to Will’s lips and glancing up twice to make sure Will doesn’t change his mind before he leans in and kisses him softly. Their lips part for a moment before Hannibal goes in for another, covering most of his top lip this time, and it’s warm and shocking all at once, the way it claws at Will from the inside out. He trails one hand down Hannibal’s bare back, dragging him closer. 

It isn’t like kissing a woman. The women he’s kissed are never intrusive, and they let out soft noises, high-pitched and unprepared. Hannibal kisses like he knows what makes Will tick. And he does; it makes it all the more exciting. 

Will’s other hand grips at Hannibal’s shoulder as he’s pressed more firmly into the window. Hannibal’s tongue is inside his mouth, he’s struggling to catch his breath, and it’s perfect. They don’t quite reach the point of panting, but Will’s breath hitches when Hannibal draws back and he instinctively moves forward. 

Hannibal’s lips are glistening and he’s trying to hold back a smile. 

“I was planning to kiss you at a festival this weekend,” Hannibal admits. Will can’t help but bark out a laugh. 

“You had it scheduled?” 

“I did not kiss you earlier for lack of wanting to,”Hannibal insists.

Will runs his hands over the top of Hannibal’s shoulders, pleased that he is allowed to. The skin and muscle feel strong under his grip.

“Well then, maybe I’ll still let you kiss me at the festival,” he teases.

Hannibal leans in and kisses his nose, leaving the skin slightly wet. “And, if you don’t let me?” 

“You could punish me, I guess.” Will doesn’t realize the implications of the words until he says it. His face starts to turn red. “I mean–”

Hannibal makes a clicking sound with his tongue and presses a finger to Will’s lips. “Will I be able to choose the punishment?” 

Will stares at Hannibal like he’s every bad decision he’s ever made. He relents, and nods. Hannibal is far too smug at the prospect. He leans forward to kiss Will on the mouth one last time and stops short at laughing at Will when he chases it. 

“I will see you in the morning, Will,” He says before departing towards the kitchen. Will’s eyes trail down towards his ass which looks way too good for the kind of pants he’s wearing. He blushes harder and scurries off to his room for the night. 

* * *

Will can’t look at Hannibal. He’s making a remarkable amount of eye contact with his untouched waffle. He considers spending two hours slowly shoveling it into his mouth, perhaps by that time Hannibal will be gone. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, amused. 

Will looks up, bashful in the early light of the morning. 

He manages a, “Yes,” short and rough with sleep. 

“You have not touched your food,” Hannibal notes, pointing with a fork. “Would you prefer I make you something else entirely?”

“No, I love waffles,” Will assures. It had been so easy last night, goading Hannibal into kissing him. Kissing him back, relishing the minty taste of Hannibal’s tongue in his mouth. Heat starts to pool in his groin and he chugs down his juice to distract himself. “Sorry, I’ve got something on my mind.”

“Clearly,” Hannibal replies with a knowing smile.

Will’s defenses are at an all time low in the mornings. It takes him a few hours to put on his emotional hard-hat and thrust himself into conversation. He’s not used to eating breakfast this early, and with company at that.

Especially the company of a man he had just kissed for the first time the night prior. 

Will remains seated when they are finished, watching Hannibal pick up the dishes. He doesn’t expect him to swoop down and steal a kiss, mouth tasting of juice and syrup. 

“Good morning,” he says for the first time that day, and moves to the sink. 

Will lets himself smile stupidly before getting up to find Olive and begin his morning walk. 

Later that night, Hannibal makes homemade ice cream with homemade fudge sauce, and Will is forced to wonder if Hannibal ever actually serves anything that isn’t made from scratch. 

“This is the best ice cream I’ve ever had, I’m serious,” Will lets him know, with an excessive mouthful of it. “Holy cow.” 

They are digging into their bowls on the couch. Olive whines between them, head turning between both their desserts.

“Olive, even if I could give this to you, you’d get none of it. Scoot.” Will nudges him with a foot and he grumpily makes his way over to his dog bed in the corner of the living room. They had purchased it recently.

“I’m glad you think so. It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

“You knew your grandmother?” Will’s ceaseless desire to know anything and everything about Hannibal Lecter always rests dormant in the back of his mind. 

“What I knew of her came from her cookbooks,” Hannibal admits. “Though I’m sure she would have been a remarkable woman to know.” 

“I never knew my grandparents,” Will discloses. Hannibal already knows about his mother and her absence. He’s only ever assumed things about Will’s father. “My dad didn’t tell me about them, and I somehow never asked. I always thought they were dead.”

“Perhaps they are still alive somewhere."

“Doubtful. I’m not as young as I look.” Will laughs. “If they’re alive by some miracle, they’ll surely be dead when they see my name on television.” Will speaks like a News Anchor. “ _FBI Investigator Runs Away with Cannibal Serial Killer_ , that’ll go over well.” 

Hannibal grins and scoops the remaining fudge in the bowl into his mouth. “They still believe we are dead,” he reminds.

“Eventually they’ll find out.” Will sets his bowl down on the coffee table with a sigh. “We can’t live in paradise forever.” 

“Is this paradise in your eyes, Will?” 

Will turns to find Hannibal staring at him with adoration. He scoffs lightly, but it is not venomous. “Are you trying to get me to say that anywhere with you would be paradise?” 

“Your words not mine.” Hannibal sets down his bowl beside Will’s. 

“You asshole!” Will expresses with a laugh. He punches Hannibal in the arm lightly, and Hannibal smoothly grabs his wrist, tugging him into a kiss. He tenses up out of shock then relaxes into it when he’s pulled in closer. 

Hannibal’s hand remains wrapped around his wrist, the other cradles the back of his skull to keep him in place while he licks into Will’s mouth. His lips part with a gasp, accepting the advance with an ease which stuns even himself. 

“If I could tell you of every single moment I yearned to kiss you in our time knowing each other, I would.” Hannibal kisses the side of his lips, his jawline, down to his neck. “But, I would not want to keep you here for hours.”

“I wouldn’t mind being kept here for hours,” Will breathes fast, chasing his mouth with his own. He nips at Hannibal’s bottom lip when Hannibal playfully attempts to pull away. He huffs, “You don’t play fair.”

“I like to see you squirm,” Hannibal confesses.

Will chews at his bottom lip, tasting Hannibal there. Acting on impulse, he leans in and throws a leg over Hannibal’s lap, kissing him in intervals between his words.

“How much?” Will asks, slinging his arms around Hannibal’s neck. He can see when Hannibal’s pupils dilate and it spurs him on. He settles on his lap, delighting in the heat between his legs which prickles up his spine as he continues kissing him.

Will has never been with a man, never considered it before Hannibal. He finds no issue at the prospect now, as he grinds forward once and shivers from the lack of solid friction.

“Will,” Hannibal warns. His hands are placed delicately on either side of Will neither encouraging or prohibiting. Will thrusts his mouth against his, kissing him fervently to stop further protests. Hannibal pushes lightly at his chest. “ _Will_.” 

Will nips at his jawline. “I can be persuasive.” 

“There is no doubt about that,” Hannibal mumbles, almost to the point of being out of breath. He is aroused too, Will can feel the hard press of his cock through his pants and it keeps him feeling lightheaded and fidgety.

Will runs a hand over his face trailing down to his neck, and rocks forward. Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed and Will wants to kiss his eyelids. 

“There is something to be said about savoring the moment,” Hannibal manages. His grip has grown tighter on Will’s waist. 

“You think we’re going too fast?” 

Will doesn’t understand that. There’s been a magnetic spark between them for years. They both knew given enough time and enough pushing on either end they’d be here. He paws at Hannibal’s shirt which is offensively still on him.

When Hannibal does little to explain himself, and little to ease Will’s strain, he thinks on it for a moment until he realizes what is going on.

“Oh my god. You scheduled this too,” Will accuses.

Hannibal has the same expression as when he pretended to be smelling Will for his aftershave rather than his encephalitis. Will shoves at him. 

“I’d think if you were planning on when to bed me, you’d let me know.” 

“I was planning on wining and dining you a while before you allowed me the privilege to know your body,” Hannibal lifts Will’s knuckles to his lips and kisses them chastely. Will pries his fingers away, but he’s not angry. 

“You’ve wined and dined me plenty,” he reminds.

“I wanted to take you out into town.” Hannibal strokes up his sides with a near-pout. “You deserve proper treatment.” 

“You’re old-fashioned,” Will snorts and kisses him. The heat of the moment has passed, and he swings himself off Hannibal’s lap, giving in. “Wine and dine me, then.”

“After the festival on Saturday,” Hannibal tells him. Will’s heart skips a beat. They had both discussed how most everyone in town is going to be there. Including their neighbor, their new victim. Hannibal wants to kill with him first. Yes, Will supposes he can see the appeal. 

“Alright,” he promises. 

* * *

The festival is one of lights, music, and dancing. Like most, Will guesses, but he’s never exactly _been_ to a festival. There was one rock concert when he was a pre-teen, but other than that horrid experience, he’s avoided such gatherings.

There is a subtle comfort about the large swath of people mingling. It somehow feels more safe to walk around with his unshrouded face; the face of a killer. Little do the lambs know their shepherds are pushing through the flock, hunting their prey. 

Lights cover the linings of the buildings. The apartment houses are as thin as skyscrapers, but don’t stretch as high. Lights also cover the railways leading up steps, and doors. The town is almost one big christmas tree. Lanterns hang from the phone lines, and the dancing attendants are shrouded in glowing necklaces and floral wear. 

Hannibal bought himself and Will floral shirts. They’d stick out like sore thumbs in their own house, but here they don’t look half bad. Begrudgingly, Will has to admit Hannibal looks the most handsome in his red floral button-up. 

The days leading up to Saturday had been spent researching their victim. They needed to be sure they knew the man’s face well before they struck.

Every so often, Hannibal will pull Will into a searing kiss. To distract the crowd from the idea that either of them are looking for anybody, or maybe just out of wanton desire. At some point, the music grows more sensual. It is late, and the only people dancing are adults and couples. They grind up against each other to the beat of the music. Will is feeling mischievous with the thrill of the hunt and with the silliness of their attire. When Hannibal isn’t looking, he backs away and disappears through the crowd of people, stepping backwards until his view of Hannibal is obscured by flapping arms and jumping patrons. 

He keeps his eyes trained on him, amused when Hannibal realizes Will is missing and turns in several directions. He calls out Will’s code-name, unheard by anybody due to the intensity of the music and the surrounding volume of the crowd. 

Gathering his nerves, Will makes his move when Hannibal’s back is turned to him. He presses up against his back, slides his hands around Hannibal’s waist, and leaves a wet, open mouthed kiss on the back of his neck. 

Before Hannibal can react, he moves around him, switching their positions. Hannibal is pressed up against the back of him now, and he grinds his ass against his crotch to tease him. He can feel lips kiss the rim of his ear, fingers trailing down his sides treating him like a fragile artifact. 

This goes unnoticed by the sea of people surrounding them. There are similar activities occurring all at once. Everyone’s pheromones are jumbled together in one big bundle. Will cranes his neck back to kiss Hannibal, groaning when he feels Hannibal thrust his half-hard cock against the curve of his ass. 

It is perhaps for the better this is cut short. Will narrows his eyes toward the crowd in front of him, and can make out the face of the man they are hunting. 

He leans back far enough so Hannibal can hear him. “I spy with my little eye.” 

He can feel the rumble of laughter in Hannibal’s chest. 

“Let’s go,” he says in his ear. 

Will and Hannibal keep their gaze on their prey while they move steadily through the crowd. Will keeps to the left while Hannibal keeps to the right. They will not risk losing him if he decides to take one path down the street instead of the other. 

They don’t follow him long. He heads towards an alley for a smoke, dangling a box of cigarettes in between two fingers. It is the perfect moment for them to strike. They stalk towards the alley and go unnoticed by him. Most likely he thinks they are here for something similar. Hannibal checks the outside of the alley for any passersby and nods to Will. They stand on either side of him, the man only beginning to grow suspicious at their positioning. Hannibal pretends to drop his phone, just as planned. He leans to pick it up and swings out a curved knife, splicing the man’s ankle. 

The man keels over in pain, eyes wide with shock and blood pooling out of his ankle. He shrieks and it is barely heard even as a whisper above the beats and shouting. 

Will, however, can hear him loud and clear. He moves to grab the man’s arm and twists it back, effectively snapping it. The man hollers as he crumples further into the wet cement. He and Hannibal strike at the same time, ripping into flesh with their knives. They had slipped on gloves just before entering the alley. There will be no fingerprints. 

When the man is only twitching, the last vestiges of his life, Will grabs Hannibal by his blood soaked floral shirt and kisses him hard. He can taste blood and sweat, and _Hannibal_. Overwhelmed with the hunt, he wants more. 

They dig into their bag to replace their shirts with clean ones, tossing the gloves in alongside their dirtied shirts. The same color and pattern. They had decided to wear black pants so they could pack light. Blood barely shows up on black fabric. Hannibal pushes him up against the wall and Will can do little to resist. He wants it just as badly, especially with Hannibal’s hands running up and under his shirt, teasing at his bare skin. He whines and pushes a leg between his thighs, massaging his groin and Hannibal releases something similar to a growl, biting and kissing at his neck in response. 

The kill had done everything but subdue his arousal. He’s harder than he’s ever been, and the iron taste of blood lingering in his mouth is helping none. 

He tugs at Hannibal to get him closer. Will can’t tell if, “ _Fuck me_ ,” slips from his own tongue, but if did, it was drowned out by the screaming crowd and deafening stereos. 

Hannibal’s mouth moves to his ear. “Home,” he nearly shouts. Will nods, gripping at his sides one last time and kissing his bottom lip, just in case he’s stopped short. 

It is unsurprising that they manage to squeeze through the crowd unnoticed. People tend to move out of the way more quickly when they realize you’re intent is to leave the festival. It will mean more space for them to party and undulate like wild animals. 

Will pities them. His night is leading towards a much more satisfying conclusion. 

* * *

Will steps out of the shower and dries his hair with a towel. His confidence has all but washed down the drain. There is something to be said about festivals. Will would have let Hannibal fuck him in that alley way an hour earlier, just out of pure adrenaline and arousal. He’s still aroused, but his nerves have consumed him.

He stares at himself in the mirror, wondering how Hannibal can see past so many flaws. He traces the scar on his cheek, the skin warped and ugly around it. 

Suddenly, he’s not sure whether he should put on a robe or walk to Hannibal’s room naked. If Hannibal’s changed his mind, it’s going to be quite awkward if he walks in like that. He decides on wearing the black silk robe which hangs beside the shower curtain. It sticks to his skin as he slides it on, tying it tight around his waist. 

He takes a deep breath, willing his heartbeat to calm. 

It had taken all his power not to touch himself in the shower. He’s gone back to half hardness out of nerves, but he’s sure Hannibal will be able to fix that. 

Will dries his hair some more, realizing this is as good as he’s going to get, and makes his way to Hannibal’s bedroom.

Hannibal is sitting on his bed, reading his tablet. He barely looks at it in the evening; Will recognizes he must be attempting to calm himself as well. It draws a smile out of him, knowing this is just as nerve-wracking for him as it is for Will. 

Hannibal is clothed, his shirt unbuttoned all the way and hanging loosely on his shoulders. Will takes a few steps forward, and can feel heat rise to his cheeks. 

Hannibal tucks his tablet away, eyeing Will from head to toe before rising and coming to meet him in the middle. He tucks a stray hair behind Will’s ear. 

“How can one man be so fortunate?” Hannibal muses.

“You did get institutionalized for three years. Not sure I count that fortunate,” Will teases but can’t help the gasp that escapes his lips when Hannibal swoops down to kiss his neck. “Have you done this before?”

Hannibal chuckles. “Have sex or have sex with a man?”

“You know what I’m asking,” Will stares at the curtained window behind Hannibal, unable to meet his eyes. Hannibal rectifies this, tipping his chin up and waiting for him to make eye contact before he answers.

“I have done this with a few other men.”

“Oh.” Will shoves down a pang of jealousy. “I haven’t, well, I don’t have much experience in either realm, but I _really_ haven’t done anything with men.” 

“Do not worry.” Hannibal kisses him with a smile and this relaxes him a bit. “Lie down on the bed,” he orders. When Will moves to do as he’s told, Hannibal stops him and pulls gently at the knot around his waist and the robe falls open. Will blushes furiously and resists the urge to close it back up. Hannibal says nothing beyond the arousing scrutiny of his gaze, before turning back to the drawers of his bureau. 

Will takes off the robe completely and lies on the bed feeling somewhat ridiculous. As if he’s posing for one of Hannibal’s drawings. His cock twitches as he watches Hannibal’s muscles stretch just above the waistline of his pants and he refuses himself the opportunity to stroke himself. 

Hannibal finally finds what he’s looking for, a small bottle of lubricant. 

Will’s heart pounds and he blinks rapidly, trying not to think too hard about the act of sex between two men. He knows how it will work, he’s just never been one to give sex too much thought. With women it’s easy; he falls into it when his partners want it. When he finds himself with an erection alone, he usually brings himself off in the shower. 

This feels enormously charged and far too intimate. All the things romance films promise real life to be. Perhaps it is because this is _Hannibal_. The very person he threw himself off a cliff for. He wants to get this right. 

Hannibal seems torn between joining him on the bed and removing his clothing first, so Will leans up and tugs him down by his collar, kissing him roughly. “C’mere.” he mumbles against his lips and Hannibal complies. 

It is much easier this way, allowing their bodies to do the talking. 

Hannibal’s weight presses him down into the mattress and he feels exposed and sensitive all over when he feels a hand at his thigh, trailing up until a thumb is tweaking at his nipple. He gasps, laughing slightly into Hannibal’s mouth. 

When it starts getting more natural and heated, Will reaches down to unbuckle Hannibal’s belt, his other hand slipping down the backside of his pants to grip at his ass. Hannibal thrusts forward in response, kissing Will roughly, and helping him remove the rest of his clothing. 

“I occasionally think about how often we used to have sex with our eyes,” Will mutters, kissing him trailing a hand down to feel the weight of Hannibal’s cock in his hand. He feels it pulse and bites his lip. 

“The looks you used to give me in my office,” Hannibal muses, nuzzling against him and pressing into Will’s probing hand, “were enough promise to carry me through my days.” 

“ _With my hands,_ ” Will reminisces with a squeeze. Hannibal snarls gently, kissing Will’s grin and nipping at his jaw. 

When the clothes are discarded to the floor, Will pulls back and takes a moment to admire the strength and muscle in Hannibal’s legs, and length and girth of his cock. Hannibal doesn’t allow his eyes to linger, pressing him back into the mattress. 

Their cocks slide together now and Will moans, clawing at his hips to encourage him to keep grinding down against him. Will’s legs hook around his and he presses his heels into the back of his thighs to push him down. Hannibal is heaving into his neck between kisses, and Will thinks if they were to roll around and makeout, continuing to thrust lazily into the wet heat between their legs, they could come in less than a minute. 

It is overwhelming to have Hannibal in his arms, to feel the ripple of his skin as he works to move against him. To have strands of silver hair tickling his forehead when he leans in for kisses. His cock has grown completely hard, leaking fluid at the tip. 

“I want you inside me,” Will mutters, biting his lip before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue. Hannibal’s hips make an abortive thrust before he forces himself to pull away and grab at the bottle of lubricate. 

“Turn around, please.” Hannibal coats his hand with it. 

Will begins to, but stops half way. “I...I want to see you.” 

“Just for the preparation. It will be easier on you.” Hannibal smiles assuringly and pushes him the rest of the way. He cranes his neck to the side, but can only see Hannibal in his peripheral vision. 

His touches feel more sensitive this way around, when he can’t see him.

Hannibal’s voice is suddenly close to his ears when he says, “Don’t fret. I won’t allow you to come unless I can see your face.” 

Will’s voice gets caught in his throat and he feels a finger brushing over his opening. His mind is still spiraling from his words when Hannibal pushes a finger in. It is delicate and precise, like a doctor’s hand. He can’t help feeling insecure, and he forces himself not to rut against the sheets just to ease the ache in his cock.

“Is there any pain?” Hannibal asks, and now he really feels like he’s at a Doctor’s appointment. 

“No, but it’s not exactly comfortable,” Will admits. It feels more intrusive than anything. He’d been hoping sparks would fly behind his eyelids; he’s never bothered to try inserting anything in his ass, but has to concede he’s always been curious. 

“Trust me,” Is all Hannibal says before inserting a second finger. That doesn’t really feel good, even worse than just the one. It stretches him and it burns for a few moments. He wriggles and huffs, turning his head the other direction to get his mind off of it. 

“Relax, Will,” he implores. 

“I’m trying.” Will takes a deep breath and focuses on the slick slide in and out of his body. This helps and he can feel it when his body stops tensing, and Hannibal is able to slide further in. He crooks them down and Will jolts, letting out a, “ _Holy shit!,_ ” without meaning to. What he’d pressed against felt like the few seconds before an orgasm, it had taken him completely off guard. 

His back arches and cock throbs when Hannibal repeats the motion. He lets out an undignified moan, moving his ass over Hannibal’s probing fingers like a common whore. He barely notices when a third is added until the burn is back. 

“ _Christ_ ,” he groans. Will doesn’t want to reveal that no one has ever touched him this way, has ever made him feel like this. It’s only his fingers. He wonders hysterically what his cock is going to feel like. “ _Hannibal_ ,” he pleads. 

“Tell me when there is no discomfort,” Hannibal kisses his spine, and Will can practically taste his desperation vibrating off of him. He wants to lie and tell him he’s ready now, but he forces himself to wait an extra minute. He waits until he can move back and feel nothing but light pressure, no burning in sight. 

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Will says, flapping a hand against his pillow. Hannibal pulls his fingers out without any preamble and Will almost forgets he promised to turn him back around. He startles when he’s face to face with him once more. 

Hannibal’s eyes are dark with lust, and it urges Will to reach up and stroke his cheeks, to bring him down into a grateful kiss. They had survived the fall for a reason. 

Hannibal reaches a hand between them, stroking his lubed hand over his cock to coat it and he lines up. Will looks down with his jaw slack, he presses his ass against him, and his breath hitches when the head of Hannibal’s cock catches on his rim. 

They suddenly make eye contact. It is intense and Will recalls a time when he told Hannibal how deeply he hated the act. Hannibal swallows, a rare display of his own nerves taking hold, and his grip tightens on Will’s thigh. He breaks eye contact for a moment to look down. He pushes in and Will cranes his head back at the feeling of his body stretching around his girth.

There is pain, muted as it is by his arousal. Just as he’s about to let out a hurt gasp, Hannibal’s hips are flush against the back of his thighs. He’s all the way inside him, and he’s kissing Will like he’s the only person in the world. 

Hannibal being inside him shakes him to his core. He feels complete, seen. 

Will wraps his legs around Hannibal’s waist, and he strokes a hand down Hannibal’s trembling back. “I love you,” Will whispers and Hannibal pulls back, eyes wide and vulnerable all at once. Will does his best to keep his tears at bay, his emotions overwhelming him. “I love you,” he repeats with conviction. 

Hannibal draws him in for a slower kiss, and Will rocks his body against his, urging him to move. Hannibal does, agonizingly slow at first, but soon he’s rolling into him and hitting Will’s prostate with almost every thrust. Will moans loudly, and Hannibal begins to lose himself in the act. Pent up sexual frustration all these years overtaking the both of them. His love for Hannibal frightens him, and it lights up his entire body. 

Hannibal begins snapping his hips at one point, and Will cries out, brows drawn tight together and his mouth falling open. He throws a hand back to grip at a pillow or the headboard. Hannibal’s hand follows, intertwining their fingers, his grip tightening until both their knuckles turn white

His cock bobs between them, the hard muscles of Hannibal’s abdomen becoming sticky with the liquid oozing out of it. The feeling makes Will thrash and groan deep in his throat. 

“Hannibal, _fuck_ , I’m going to come,” He says frantically, and he’s tugged bodily up from his horizontal position and into Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal’s thrusts grow hard, as he presses Will to his chest. From this angle, the pressure on his prostate is more intense, and he hurdles into his orgasm unexpectedly, a high-pitched noise ripped from his throat as he comes over both their stomachs. 

He doesn’t have time to come down from his twitching aftershocks before Hannibal is following suit, gripping tight onto Will’s ass to keep him speared as he comes in jolts inside him, a broken groan following. 

Will quickly presses a soothing kiss to his lips. A trembling grin creeps its way into his features when Hannibal brushes the hair out of his face and leans up to kiss his hairline. 

They kiss languidly while they come down from the rush of endorphins, and Will doesn’t know when they fall back onto the sheets, but he’s drifted to sleep before he can even consider getting up to clean off. 

He wakes up to damp kisses being placed on every dry patch of skin on his neck and back. Sun beats through the cracks of the window the curtain doesn’t quite cover, and his skin feels warm and oversensitive all at once.

Hannibal is naked against his back, sweaty and sticky in the early heat of the morning and Will finds he loves it. No cold winter chill from Wolf Trap or his cabin with Molly. 

“I want breakfast,” he whines, but doesn’t try to escape Hannibal’s grasp.

Hannibal chuckles, breath hot on his nape. “So do I.”

“You’ve turned me into a different person entirely. I usually couldn’t stomach food until at least two in the afternoon,” Will wants to turn around, but thinks better of it considering he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. “Come on.”

“You wouldn’t deny me _my_ meal, would you?” Hannibal mumbles into his skin, and Will doesn’t know what he means until he feels his kisses trailing down over his hip. He’s flipped over and yelps, grabbing onto Hannibal’s silvered hair. 

“It’s early,” he feebly protests, though there is a stirring in his groin. It doesn’t help that Hannibal continues his downward trajectory, nipping at his stomach and place beneath his naval, causing him to twitch and writhe. “ _Hannibal_.” 

“Please, Will?” Hannibal’s head is just peering out from underneath the sheet they had haphazardly thrown over themselves at one point during the night. His eyes are wanton, like he’s been awake for hours, waiting for this one thing. 

Will nods once, and drops his head back onto the pillow. He is met with the view of the ceiling, and the feel of Hannibal’s mouth on the head of his cock. His eyes flutter closed and he pictures his mouth around the crown of it, sinking down as he does so now. 

He arches, hands scrambling in the sheets as Hannibal continues swallowing him down, to the root of his dick. 

“I let you kiss me at the festival,” Will stutters out, trying to remain coherent as he feels the head of his cock bump the back of Hannibal’s throat. He barely constricts around him, as if he’s done this hundreds of times. It’s maddening. “If I hadn’t, what would your punishment have been?” 

Hannibal hears him, but keeps up the suction for a while longer before popping off obscenely and moving his mouth to Will’s balls, tasting every part of him. 

“I would keep you on edge for hours,” Hannibal says as easily as he would speak anything else in casual conversation. “I could, you know. It’s not as difficult as it sounds. I’d like to hear you cry for it.” 

Before Will can respond, Hannibal’s lips are tight around his cock and he’s bobbing down, quickly. Will’s eyes shoot open with an accompanied grunt, hips thrusting up against his own volition, chasing the searing heat. 

“I can’t imagine it would be altogether satisfying for you,” Will croaks out. He slides a hand underneath the sheet and brushes into his hair, sweaty at roots. 

Hannibal doesn’t stop, but Will can hear the question in the way he pauses and restarts, at an even faster pace. 

“God.” Will’s hips tilt up again and he gasps when firm hands press his hips into the mattress, hindering his movement. His ass throbs from the night prior and his mind wanders to the memory of Hannibal pounding into him.“You could make me ride you slowly, perhaps in the living room, not allowing me to go faster so I can’t, _fuck_ , get off properly.” 

Hannibal reaches one hand down to tease at his balls and he can feel them tighten, and his cock twitch in Hannibal’s mouth. “Hannibal,” he warns, trying to drag him off his dick before he comes in his mouth. “ _Hey_.” 

Hannibal digs his nails into the meat of his thighs and Will chokes on a moan. Apparently he’d been serious about wanting a meal. He cranes his neck back when he feels his orgasm creep up, convulsing when it hits him. It shudders through his body in waves, and Hannibal keeps his mouth on him all the while, swallowing and licking at him when his dick twitches for the last time.

“Are you happy?” Will grumbles as Hannibal crawls up his lax body, kissing him into the mattress. He hums in response and winds his arms around him. He sighs when Hannibal kisses at his neck. “Now I have no motivation to get out of bed.”

“You will be left alone, then,” Hannibal whispers and swings out of bed. He grabs a selection of clothes from his drawers and winks at Will, before heading to his bathroom. Will huffs out in frustration, left exhausted and limp on the sheets.

Perhaps another day he can convince Hannibal to stay with him until morning rolls into the afternoon. He smiles wide at the thought, thinking again of how Hannibal felt deep inside him last night. Christ, his sex drive has certainly been resurrected. Will would have thought pushing forty meant he was done getting off more than once a day. 

Hannibal makes some sort of fancy omelette that morning. All Will knows is that it tastes good, and Hannibal says it’s safe for Olive to have a portion of.

“Shall we go fishing today?” Hannibal suggests when they are finished, and Will doesn’t see why not. He gathers his fishing gear and Hannibal places his sketchpad in the satchel he’s lugging along. 

They have kept the boat from their travels overseas. They won’t be gone for too long, knowing Olive will be waiting for her dinner. Will does not want to leave their home unattended. They had spent enough time wading through to their new life, and he wants to preserve, fossilize it.

The ship is silent, rocking only with the smallest of waves.

Hannibal lounges at the bow of the ship, sketching the vast picture he sees before him. Will fishes when they are far enough out, not sure if his shoddy bait will be adequate for catching anything. He doesn’t want to disappoint Hannibal by not providing their dinner. 

A part of Will still feels like he’s on a vacation, or he’s wandered too far into his mind palace, putting images of memories together to create new memories, unable to cope with his own dreadful existence. But, this is real. Hannibal is real. When he passes him on the boat with a kiss to the temple as he goes down into the cabin to pour himself a drink, Will reminds himself this is real and this is how he is going to live.

There shouldn’t be fear, not when they’ve come so far. 

He supposes the more he allows himself to love, the more fearful he is this will be taken away from them. He doesn’t want that, he can’t have that. He won’t allow anyone to take Hannibal or this life away from him. Not without a fight. 

The lounge chair barely has room enough for the two of them, but once Will has caught three fish and stored them away, he climbs over top of Hannibal and settles against his side. Hannibal presses him close so he doesn’t dangle off the edge of the chair. It feels safe nestled against him; he shouldn’t feel safe. For so long, Will feared him. 

“Jack is going to find out,” Will says softly, staring at the reflection of the sun on the ocean. Hannibal’s grip tightens around him. “We can’t stay dead forever.”

“I will not allow us to be caught.” 

“You’re not superhuman.” Will strokes Hannibal’s cheek so that he looks his way. “Even if you’d like to believe you are, it is possible for you to get caught.”

“I have been doing this almost all my life. Then, I had no reason to run.” Hannibal leans in to give him a chaste kiss, tasting of brandy and warmth. “Now I have a reason.” 

Will nods in understanding. “I can’t be taken away from you again.” 

“We would not survive the separation,” Hannibal says lightly, a reminder. 

Will lets out a dry chuckle. “We really wouldn’t.” 

“I cannot bear the thought of never being able to touch you again,” Hannibal says in a low voice, reaching down to squeeze his ass. Will can’t help his sharp intake of breath. “Now that I know how perfectly you fit against my body.” 

“I always knew you were a pervert,” Will mutters before rolling on top of him and kissing him senseless. “All those times you stared at my ass in your office.”

“You noticed,” Hannibal states, rolling up his hips lazily. 

“It’s not like I was trying to stop you,” Will says, and perhaps he’s talking himself up a bit too much. He had noticed Hannibal looking once, but never thought much of it. Not until now anyway. He kisses him anyhow, never bored of the way Hannibal warms up beneath his hands and responds to his every move.

Will gets up suddenly and Hannibal watches him with a curious gaze as he wanders to the edge of the bow. He turns once and dives into the water. They’re lucky they’ve anchored the boat. “Come and get me, Hannibal,” Will calls. He splashes up at where Hannibal is peering over the edge of the rail. “Unless you’ve forgotten how to swim!” 

He disappears under the water once more before emerging. Hannibal is no longer looming over him and he looks around. He hadn’t heard a splash. He swims around the boat, and shouts out, “Hannibal?!”

Hannibal grabs his legs from under the water and his scream is cut off as he’s dragged under. His instinct is fight or flight, and he thrashes at first until he remembers Hannibal isn’t trying to kill him. He feels his lips against his, and he tries to open his eyes, but the water stings. He surges up to the surface to cough and hack. Salt water had made its way down his throat. Hannibal emerges taking a deep breath.

“Are you alright?”

“Kissing underwater does not work,” Will notes.

They use the ladder to get back up to the boat and Will drags him down into the cabin and lets Hannibal fuck him on the bed. Hannibal had put a lot of strain on his still sore, healing muscles when he’d jumped into the sea, so half way through, Will flips them over and rides him fast and quick. Last night had been about savoring; today he wants to chase his pleasure without a care in the world.

Hannibal lies under him and wraps a hand around his cock while he thrusts up to the pace Will set. “Fucking hell,” Will groans, curling a hand into Hannibal’s chest hair, most likely to the point of pain, but when he sees white and feels himself clenching around Hannibal’s hard cock, he tightens his fists in it more. 

“Will.” Hannibal is breathless and still thrusting a little, and Will’s forehead falls to his shoulder as he pants. Hannibal is sweating with effort, trying not to jostle him too much.

“Keep going,” Will chokes out. “I want you to come inside me.”

In another moment, Hannibal might have protested, but he’s at his breaking point, thrusting back up into Will with a series of grunts and sharp breaths. Will holds onto his shoulders with a grimace, trying not to cry out as Hannibal’s cock hits his prostate and sends shocky currents all the way up his spine. 

Hannibal comes only a minute later, gripping onto Will’s back with urgency. Will holds him through it, wincing when his dick slips out of his body. He hopes he never gets used to the feeling of slickness trickling out of him; he adores the foreign feeling of it. How it feels like Hannibal staking his claim every time. 

“I’ll kill them all,” Hannibal says after they come down. They’re stroking each other’s hair, looking into each other’s eyes like every couple in a Hallmark movie. Alana would mock them. Jack would condemn them. “If they try to take you from me, I’ll kill them all.”

Will swallows at the grave intensity of the words. Hannibal means it. He will kill them, no hesitation, and no compromise. It shouldn’t please him as it does. 

Will holds him closer. 

* * *

It is a week or so later. 

Will is sitting down beside Hannibal for a movie. Hannibal had been scrolling through news channels, watching the American one while he had been waiting.

Will hooks one ankle around Hannibal’s leg, sliding his arm though his. “The dog’s asleep,” he tells him tiredly. 

Hannibal hums in acknowledgement and his facial expression droops, just slightly. Almost cold and distant, a face he hasn’t seen in a long time. Will cocks his head at him. 

“What is it?”

Will turns to the television and sees the headline circulating at the bottom of the screen while a news anchor speaks on something entirely irrelevant. 

_BREAKING NEWS: ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ and Supposed Accomplice Former FBI Profiler Will Graham Confirmed Not Dead And On The Run Due to Recent Evidence Found at The Great Red Dragon Crime Scene._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope this was enjoyable! I can't stop writing for them, it's cathartic. I need help. Tell me to do something else, thank you.


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